The Princess and her Sword
by Pandorakun
Summary: A revolution takes away the country that Roland has pledged his services to, leaving only a shattered young princess who wants nothing but revenge for her dead sister, the Queen, and his promise to be sword for all eternity.
1. Prologue

**Title: The Princess and her Sword**

**Summary: A revolution takes away the country that Roland has pledged his services to, leaving only a shattered young princess who wants nothing but revenge for her dead sister, the Queen, and his promise to be sword for all eternity. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Luminous Arc 2 or any of the characters in this story that are from the game. I do own all OCs, funny foreign countries and the plot. **

**Update Schedule: Approximately 1 chapter per week/2 weeks. **

**A/N: Set shortly after the end of the game. Roland is 18 and has only just given his knightly vows.**

* * *

><p><strong> Prologue: In which a promise is made that will shake the world<strong>

Roland spat out blood from his mouth and wiped his cut lip. He looked around himself in disbelief, stunned that he had survived the fall with only a few bruises, scratches and a long gash down the side of his face. The blood felt strangely good as it ran down, soothing the stinging wounds and dripping onto the prone form next to him.

"Oh crap." He said, looking at the girl in shock, "Princess, you okay? Oi, Princess!" He shook the girl, his hands trembling with fear. He drew his sword and set it below her nose. The metal, bloody and red as it was, fogged up slightly. She was still breathing. Faintly to be sure, but at least she was alive.

"Oh thank fucking God," He swore. Roland looked up towards the sky. He was surrounded by the rocky crags typical of Jotzenchoc, and the sky was barely visible between them. Smoke obscured most of the visible horizon, and it was tinged with red from the flames.

The woman stirred.

"Princess! You're awake!" He exclaimed, relief relaxing his taut, panicked face.

"Sir Roland, is that you?" She asked feebly. He vision was cloudy and she could barely make out the silhouette beside her. His voice was cloudy as well, and sounded as though it came from a deep well or some such place where voices don't generally sound from.

"Yes, my lady, it is I." He replied, "Are you able to walk? Or do you require my assistance?"

"Nay, I shall endeavour to-!" Her answer was cut short by a cry of pain from behind them.

"Show yourself!" Roland stood up and pointed his blade in the direction of the voice. A battered young soldier crawled towards him.

"Roland, sheathe your sword. We're on the same side."

"Sir Richter? Oh thank goodness, you're alive."

"Indeed, but just barely so. Come, give me your report."

"Casualties totalling over five thousand, sir. Most of our standing army has been wiped out. Sir Gaston went down with one of the rebel leaders, and in all likelihood drowned."

"I... see." Richter's face was unusually impassive, belying his shock and horror at the atrocities he had just heard Roland rattle off with almost no emotion. He knew that the boy was merely trying to stop himself from panicking, but the blasé tone frightened him at the same time. "And your brother? Miss Rina?"

"I do not know, sir." Roland's face darkened for a moment, before regaining its previous gravity. "And there have been reports that Her Majesty may have been killed in the initial explosion."

"No!" A scream interrupted their conversation. The young princess was looking at the two soldiers with widened eyes, it was as though somehow, the pain, the anguish and the feeling of having the world fall on you, could be expressed in just a look, and that look was what the princess was giving the two.

"Princess..." Roland looked at her sadly.

"There is nothing we can do, Elena." Richter said to her gently, "Come. We need to leave for the border soon, as well as find a way to treat Roland's wounds."

"Sir?"

"We must head for Shqiperise post-haste. The Alba family will be able to help us."

"I see. Very well sir. I believe that I can arrange for two horses."

"Good. Do so immediately." Richter turned away from Roland, who jogged away towards one of the more confused battlefields in hope of stealing a couple of horses. "My lady, please. We cannot afford to lose you as well."

"Richter... is my sister truly...?"

"So it would appear. Please, my lady, do not dwell on this. It does no good to brood. We may mourn after we ourselves have reached some degree of safety. Ah look! Roland returns, with the promised horses no less!" He smiled at the pale girl. She nodded at him and walked unsteadily towards Roland.

"Well? Help me up." She commanded Roland, giving him an angry, haughty look.

_She has every reason to despise me. I failed to fulfil my vows. I let Her Majesty die. _

"Right away, my lady." He set his hands close to the stirrups, so that she could use him to boost herself onto the horse. The Princess was a petite woman, her small body framed by her long, surprisingly dark hair. She did not resemble her sister very much, except for her eyes which were the same shade of crimson-brown. Allegedly, she took after her late mother, the King's mistress. She could barely get onto the horse as such, and Roland eventually picked her up by the waist and hoisted her on. She reacted angrily to this, but kept her composure, giving him only an icy glare. Roland gazed at her for a minute, and suddenly grabbed her shoulders.

"Eh?" She squeaked in surprise.

"I realise this is most sudden of me, and that I have no right to even utter such words in your presence, but Princess, I truly desire to help you. To stand by you, and be your sword. If we retake Carnava, then I would like to protect you. To fight for you." His speech was impassioned and sincere, and it left both Richter and the Princess amazed by his boldness.

"Do as you will." She said, pushing away his hands. Roland continued to look at her with intense eyes. Richter smiled at her reaction.

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><p><strong>AN: Short chapter I know, but it's mainly to set up the primary conflict of the story. This chapter begins in media res, if anyone is interested, so you can expect me to fill in the gaps about what the fuck is happening soon.**

**Reviews appreciated as always. Again, no unconstructive rudeness will be tolerated, but thanks to everyone who does so in a civil manner. **

**Shqiperise: Albanian for Albania. I don't know how to pronounce it, so don't ask, but for the purposes of this story, it is [Shki-purr-iize]. **

**Alba: Latin for white. Terrible pun on Albania being the source of the country name.**

**Italics - character thoughts. I leave it to you, gentle reader, to interpret who's thinking what. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Where a boy becomes a man and finds himself overwhelmed by the feeling**

It was a warm day, with a gentle breeze that made you feel as if something had gone right with the world. It was the sort of day where you sat on the grass and flew paper airplanes into the sky. There was music in air, from the twittering birds to the mawkish military trumpets in the distance. A young woman stood near a tree, playing into a harmonica. The melody was sweet and simple and blended tenderly into the air. She stopped after playing a few bars, and looked around her. She exhaled happily; she was glad to be at that hill, at that very moment in time when everything was peaceful. A piece of paper was in her hand, along with a pen.

"_Carnava is not a country known for its technology. Other nations, such as the floating city of Veneti, are far better known for the advancements they have made for the betterment of their people's lives. All Carnava has to offer was nature, and magic. The two have melded together to become integral to the citizens of the land, and everything that happened in that country was governed by those two factors. If Veneti has its tall towers stretching into the sky, Carnava has its glorious mountains. If Shqiperise has its idol singers, Carnava has earthy ethnic melodies. It all makes for a strange juxtaposition of technology, schizophrenic in its implementation, yet beautiful. When people travel across the great Continent, they find something unique in each land." _

The young woman stared at the paper in dismay.

_I call this total rubbish. A monkey with a coconut for a brain would be able to sell this place better than me. No, scratch that. I suppose a monkey with a coconut would have some trouble holding a pen. _

She scratched her nose idly with the pen, leaving a small black ink stain.

_Maybe I should ask one of the soldiers for pointers. The Specint guys tend to be good at this sort of thing. Oh to be a Carnavan, sailing upon the briny seas. How did he even come up with something so... random?_

"Hi!" A voice suddenly interrupted her reverie. It was a warm, friendly voice; deep but not too deep and eminently cheery. She turned to face the owner of the shout. He was a young man, maybe two years her senior. He was fairly tall and well-built, with the poise and posture of a swordsman. He had short, black hair, cut in the style acceptable for a soldier in the Carnavan Armed Forces. His eyes were a deep shade of blue.

_Ultramarine. If they used a particular paint for his eyes, then I think that would be it. _

_Weird girl, sitting by herself. Wonder what she was writing. She seems less than happy about it. _

"Hello there." She smiled at him in response. "Care to help me out a little?"

_Forward, aren't you?_

"Sure. What about?"

"I'm writing an essay. On travel in the Continent, though the point kind of is to encourage more tourists to Carnava. Problem being that there is no earthly reason why you would actively travel here from abroad." Her speech was terse and clipped.

_Eh...? Who is this person?_

"Oi, I like this country. I'm a soldier for a reason, you know."

_I didn't realise that, you know._

"You mean you aren't the victim of an elaborate ploy to force you into armed service because of your family name and its connexions with warfare, battle and specific links to the Magic Association that we all know and secretly loathe?"

_What. The. Hell._

"Come again...?" He paused, looking at her in amazement. It had been a brief but fiery speech coloured with the woman's contempt for the Association. She looked angry and more than a little bitter. "Oh, no, nothing of the sort at all. I _am_ from a military family, but I assure you, my decision to become a Knight has nothing to do with that. Also, that was likely the longest sentence you have used thus far, and I don't doubt that you have a tremendous grudge against the Association."

"But of course. I simply consider them cowards for their actions during the incident at Redwall Beach."

Roland blanched at the mention of that incident. Redwall Beach was infamous in Carnavan history. During the war against the creatures referred simply as Beast Fiends, a refugee camp filled with survivors from the previous battles, sixteen years ago, had been brutalised. The Magic Association, led by one Duc d'Oreille at that dark time, had isolated itself and refused to help the dying camp. Despite pleas from the late King Carnava, he had refused to act, and the entire colony of two hundred people, most of them women and children, had been wiped out. It was a blot on the Association's history as well, and Dia, the Brilliant Witch, and current leader, had done her best to make amends for the atrocity.

"The leaders of the Association then and the leaders of the Association now are completely different. You cannot blame Miss Dia for what her predecessor did." He said, doing his best not to physically harm the smug woman in front of him.

"Then I won't. I'll still hate them nonetheless."

"Why?"

"I lost my mother in that incident."

"Oh." He paused, "My apologies in that case."

_That was real smooth. _

"Would you have laughed at me if I gave any other reason?"

"No, never. I too lost someone very important to me that day."

"Then why do you not despise them as well?"

"I know the witches personally. I cannot hate my friends after all. Besides, as a person, I guess I can't condone judging people on such flimsy grounds. I mean, they had nothing to do with the incident."

_Loyal sap._

"Well, never mind that. My essay. Read." She commanded him with the air of being used to getting her way. He gave her a look filled with injured pride, and quickly skimmed through the essay, or rather, what little had been written thus far.

_She sounds so angry about Carnava being behind the rest of the Continent. _

"Might I suggest," He said warily, more than aware of the dark glare the woman was giving him, "That you consider riffing on Carnava less and complimenting it some more? And also sounding more sincere while you do that?"

"Huh, was that the problem?" The question was clearly rhetorical. All she had wanted was for someone to see the same thing as her. "A thank you is in order, I suppose." She was surprisingly dismissive, especially after the argument the two had had just a few minutes previously.

_Grateful. Yes. Most grateful. _

"Not a problem."

The woman got up and dusted off her dress. It was simple but elegant, and complemented her small frame beautifully. The sight caused the boy to pause for a minute. She gave him a mocking look that immediately dissolved this pleasant image however, and turned away towards the road. She had only gotten about twenty metres away from the boy, when he called out to her.

"My name is Roland. Roland Gallia! Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

She turned to look at him in mild disbelief, coloured with a certain amount of pleasure at his courtesy despite him having no idea whatsoever about her identity. She appreciated his gesture even if it was not quite so evident on her impassive face.

"Elena. Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg."

Roland's eyes widened in shock as she said the name. He could merely stare after the figure as she walked down the road, away from him.

"Oh my God. I think I just met the Princess."

* * *

><p>Roland felt like a duck. There were precisely 6.0221415 × 10^23 places he'd far rather be in, and he wasn't sure if all these places were on the planet. Ahrtania might have very well been in that list as well. His face was calm, as always, but his insides were vertiginous, roiling with his nerves. Calling them mere butterflies would be like calling a nuclear blast a tiny fire cracker.<p>

_Oh bloody hell, why am I even here? Help me, Rasche, I think I'm going to faint. _

The hall he was in was a large one. The ceiling was maybe 20 metres high, and the entire room looked terrifyingly oversized, even with the 98 cadets that were about to become Knights of the Kingdom. He measured the hall to be approximately 50x70 metres, thought a large amount of that space seemed devoted to glorifying various leaders – their statues were obnoxiously tall and snooty.

_Stop. Thinking. Now. And measuring crap – it doesn't matter how tall this building is – I think that lady needs new shoes pronto – Roland, stop. NOW. _

His heart was racing. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but somehow, just the thought of finally achieving his dream left him desperately in need of some extra oxygen, and the urge to notice tiny insignificant details like the crack on the wall that looked like an adorable little skull.

_If this doesn't end soon I think I'm going to scream so help me I'm suffering here. _

He could feel the stares of the crowd on him, the top student of his class. One particular standout was likely the Princess he had inadvertently bumped into just a few hours previously. She was the reason, he realised, that he was so nervous. That his collar seemed like it belonged to a much skinnier person than he.

The military uniform he was wearing, a stark contrast from his usual armour, was tailored for him. Neatly cut, it snugly covered his body, accenting his newfound height and bulk. The collar was high, and he had to wear a tie with it, but until that day it had never been quite so asphyxiating. He had graduated on top of his class so why? Something about the Princess's cool look left him decidedly winded.

_I haven't felt like this since high school entrance exams. What the hell? I thought those were bad. I miss boot camp. Would they let me back in if I asked nicely?_

"Roland, are you ready?" Gaston looked at him with approval. Despite his wayward, anxious thought, Roland looked the model soldier. He was neat, with his hair swept back away from his face, and his polished boots clicked on the ground as he walked up to the pedestal.

_Nope. Not even a little. No._

"Yes, sir. I am."

_That was a lie. _

"Good, now repeat after me."

"Sir."

"I, a member of Carnava's Armed Forces, hereby pledge to serve with all my heart and soul, the country and Queen to which I have now given my life to."

Roland repeated the words, slowly so that he wouldn't stumble over them. His classmates followed suit.

"I am prepared to give my life, my body, my heart and my soul at all times in honour of my pledge as one of the Royal Knights of Carnava, so hear me God, as I take this vow and carve it into my heart."

_Grisly metaphor that. No, wait, that isn't a metaphor. That's a simile – oh no, I'm doing it again. _

He said what he had to, and sighed imperceptibly.

"Well done." Gaston smiled proudly at his young protégé. He then turned to the other knights, "You are all now Knights of Carnava. Bear your titles well."

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><p>"You did it, bro!" Rasche appeared from some obscure corner to capture Roland in a fierce hug.<p>

"Ack. Choking. Windpipe no longer functioning." He gasped, trying to extract himself from his brother's grasp. The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was still a bright, warm day.

"Congratulations, Roland!" Rina came up to them, beaming. Over the last year, just as Roland had, she too had grown tremendously, resembling more than ever a woman rather than a child. She had grown her hair out at a certain young individual's request, though it was still rather short when compared to people like Fatima, who let her hair sweep out behind her like a black wave of silk. At least, that's how Roland pictured it.

_I wonder how those two are doing. _

"Shall we go to our spot then?" He asked the other two, grinning broadly.

"Sure thing." They replied, almost in unison.

Their hill was nothing special. It was simply a small, but secluded hillock that had the minor advantages of facing the riverside, and providing an excellent view of the fireworks during the Starflower festival. But it was theirs. No one knew about the tiny hill except for the three of them, and it had become their haunt, their secret base, for nearly ten years.

"_Professor!" The boy called out to the old man, "Wait up!" The two of them strode up the sloping greens. _

"_Come, child. We have to walk faster or we'll miss it."_

"_Miss what?"_

"_Your surprise, of course."_

Roland suddenly woke up from his reverie to the distinct sensation that someone was stuffing grass up his nose. He waved his hand at the offending grass-stuffer and turned around to try and go back to sleep. The dream had felt warm and familiar. There had been another person with them as well. A girl. A distant shadowy figure wreathed in the mists of his memory. He wanted to reach out and grab the figure but it was too far away.

* * *

><p>"Are we ready?"<p>

"Good to go, boss."

"Good man. Where's the Princess?"

"Dunno. She was playing hooky."

"Then find her, you fool."

"Boss, she ain't here. We checked her rooms an' everything."

"Try harder!"

"There is no time. We must proceed with our objective regardless of the missing Princess. Ready the charges."

"Aight sir!"

* * *

><p>There was a muffled boom from far away that jerked Roland out of his slumber once more.<p>

"What was that?" He asked, looking around wildly. There was smoke, he noted, rising from the direction of the palace.

"Oh shit. I think someone just blew up the palace." Rasche said, staring at the ever increasing plume of grey staining the sky. He looked far too surprised to react appropriately.

_C-come again? BLEW UP THE PALACE? React, Rasche. Don't just "Oh shit full stop" me. _

There was a muffled scream from behind them, and a young woman slipped and rolled down to rest at Roland's knees. It was the girl from the morning.

_Huh. It's her. _

"Princess Elena? Are you really the Princess Elena?" Roland asked her in disbelief. She recovered from her fall with surprising speed, and gave him a harsh look.

"Never mind me, get to the palace. Aren't you a knight?"

"Well, yes, but your safety..."

"My sister is far more important than I. Get to it, man!"

"Right away, my lady." Roland stared at the Princess in surprise. He had always pictured her to be more gentile, less blunt and abrupt. Less prone to rolling down hillocks and then ordering people about as though nothing had happened. He shook his head to clear his mind from the odd thoughts that were passing through it, and set off at a run towards the palace. Rasche followed suit. Rina did not, however, causing the Princess to glare at her and ask her why she had not deigned to save the people in the palace.

"With all due respect, my lady, I am not a knight, and I choose to ensure your safety above the others." She replied, not realising the will behind the princess's eyes.

The Princess Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg merely laughed at her, and told her to get on with her rescue mission.

_I'm not important enough. In any case, I'm safe as long as I don't go near the palace._

_Oh. I hope Richter is alright._

* * *

><p>Roland reached the palace within fifteen minutes, noting that it was a new personal record. The whole place was in an uproar. Maids were screaming, soldiers were tearing about, hunting for the perpetrators.<p>

"Roland, is that you?" A voice called out to him.

Roland whipped around, sword drawn, to face the Queen Sophia herself.

"Your Majesty, you're safe!" He exclaimed, joy evident on his face. She nodded at him with a smile, after which her expression darkened as she looked up at the burning tower in which she had been just minutes before the blast.

"We need to leave. We could head to the Royal villa, could we not?" Roland continued, still keeping a sharp lookout for any assassins that were still lurking about.

"Indeed." She said, her face downcast. "Ah! Have you any news from Sir Richter or Sir Gaston?"

"There is no need, my Queen, we are safe." Richter's voice cut into the conversation as the two knights strode up to the Queen. They bowed to her.

"Do we have any way to escape?"

"Yes, we do. We've arranged for a fast carriage. Roland, you, Rasche and Rina will be responsible for her guard, along with the two of us. I trust you can find your friends quickly?"

"Of course!" Roland replied, with far more enthusiasm than he felt. "The Princess as well, she's at a hilltop not far from here."

"Excellent! Then she is well?"

"Aside from a few scratches from tripping and rolling down a slope, yes sir, she is quite well."

"Come again?"

"Er, I would prefer not to think about it."

Roland jogged away, so that he could find Rasche and Rina. He located them soon enough, trying to extract a young boy from a burning room.

_Crap. I think they might need a little help._

* * *

><p>"I take it that you are aware of the perpetrators of this reprehensible incident, Richter?"<p>

"Indeed, Your Majesty. We have... suspects."

"I trust then, that you will take action once things calm down?"

"Naturally."

_I do hope that Elena is indeed as alright as Roland claims she is._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And we're back! This chapter takes place before the prologue, because somehow I like the idea of narrative time going around in a circle, as opposed to chronologically. The chapter was supposed to be longer, but 3000 or so words is enough to be getting on with.  
><strong>**There's a lot of action left, and the reason they land up at Jotzenchoc needs to be addressed (see, I haven't forgotten the setting of the prologue). Additionally, I've been adding lore and history to Carnava because the game has very little (and that glossary isn't enough really), and that isn't quite enough for the scope of this story. I'm kind of sorry about the OCs, but they end up inviting themselves in such a setting, and no Mary Sues is the guarantee I give you, right now, even if our princess has a verbose name.  
><strong>**Also, I'll admit that Roland is far more snarky here than in the game, but that falls under my personal interpretation of him which is basically: no one is THAT nice all the time, and I know that he's far more of a perv (Spa conversations...) and snarkier than he lets on. **

**References and additional chapter notes:  
><strong>**1) Duc d'Oreille - Yes, he is the Duke of the Ear. First name is Boucle. Couldn't think of anything more emasculating that would do as an aristocratic name (for anyone who doesn't know French) at a pinch.  
><strong>**2) 6.0221415 × 10^23 - Yes, this was indeed a chemistry joke and I hope you'll forgive me.**

**Thanks and Acknowledgements:  
><strong>**Thank you to Tobilas for your review, and I promise you, you'll get to see exactly what happens to Gaston the chapter after the next. ****And thank you, my dearest psychology teacher (even though you'll never see this), for making my day and thus giving me the energy to finish this update.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Alternative Viewpoint**

**What I thought was a good day turns out to be horrible. **

That day was a bad day. Really, that is the easiest, most reductionist, stupid way I can think of if someone asks me how the day went. It all started in the morning. I had been looking forward to it because I had exactly one class to attend – geography – after which I would be freer than the bird sitting on my window sill, gazing at me mockingly because it had wings and I didn't, and I may have forgotten where I was going with this analogy. Getting back to geography, my teacher had felt kind today, and gave me a few books to read on Carnava, and tourism in general.

"You are the Princess of this glorious land. You must know about it in as much depth as you can." He said to me.

I have several rants on Carnava, and I can safely say that I hate being here. I managed to convince my sister that in order to understand the world better, I should leave the country for university, and be incognito. Only 722 days left until the fateful day. Yay. Ahem, never mind that. I tend to ramble far too much. Bear with me until I figure out how to tell this story properly.

My name, as an introduction might be in order, is Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenberg, and it is the most pretentious name I have ever heard, except maybe my sister's, which is the equally, if not more, flowery, Sophia Lacrimosa Riesevelt von Hahnenberg. Heck, add a Sparklypoo in there somewhere, and no one would notice. She's Queen Sophia to everyone though, since she is actually a pretty cool big sis. Oh, and Lacrimosa means tears, or something to that effect. I do not know why she was given such a name. But I digress once more.

I've often been considered an arrogant person. I would like to quickly state that this is not strictly true. I just don't like other people that much. Being a member of the royal family shows you a side of people that isn't very pleasant. It shows you the part with the ass-kissing and the flattery, and after a point of time, you're jaded. Compliments feel faked. Smiles feel gratuitous and unnatural, and that warm, friendly voice I heard when pondering over my essay, felt obnoxious. The first thing that went through my head when I heard it was "No. I don't want another boot-licker following me around." Excuse my French, but people like that are merde. No. Worse.

I had honestly expected out dialogue to go as follows. Trust me, as this has actually had a precedent, and by the end of that conversation, I could have punched a kitten. No, wait, no. I like kittens.

Boy: AH MY DEAREST PRINCESS! HOW LOVELY YOU LOOK! HOW BEAUTIFULLY YOU PLAY YOUR FLUTE!

Me: Harmonica

Boy: YES. THAT. YOU LOOK DIVINE TODAY!

Me: Is that so?

And so on forth.

This fellow was different. Rather, he seemed to have no idea about who I was. It was refreshing; I'll give you that, but also a little disconcerting.

He was really handsome, I couldn't help but notice that, and he looked like a soldier, with his straight back and lean, strong looking frame. He had longish black hair, with an odd streak of silver running down the front – a well known sign of magic corruption – and beautiful eyes. They were a strange blue, almost ultramarine, and very piercing. The impression I got of him was that he was someone you could trust. It made me feel uncomfortable somehow. Itchy, even, that someone like that actually existed around me.

I asked him to help me with my essay. He raised his eyebrow, just one (a fact that to this day makes me jealous because I never figured out how to do it, and it looks cool), and agreed to take a look.

"I'm writing an essay. On travel in the Continent, though the point kind of is to encourage more tourists to Carnava. Problem being that there is no earthly reason why you would actively travel here from abroad." I said to him. Funny how many pauses that sentence had had.

He looked surprised, and mentioned that he rather liked the place – hence his desire to protect it. Well, awkward.

"You mean you aren't the victim of an elaborate ploy to force you into armed service because of your family name and its connexions with warfare, battle and specific links to the Magic Association that we all know and secretly loathe?" I cannot explain why I blurted that out. It was an opinion I had kept locked up in the deepest, darkest recesses of my cobwebbed memory centres, and believe you me, even my sister did not know. He looked appropriately shocked, although that expression was fleeting. Somehow, I knew I'd annoyed him. His reply to me was heavy with irony, and the rudest sentence thus far (though still really high on the politeness scale – this guy had the self-control of a, well, something with a lot of self-control).

Our discussion turned to Redwall Beach, courtesy my new-found "let's tell random people things I don't even tell my family WOO HOO" moment, and it came to light that he was the sort of person I disliked, for getting along with the Magic Association, and simultaneously, my favourite sort of person – the kind I had read about in books, and knew, maybe, two people who actually fit the description before the boy. He was loyal, and sure of his convictions. And at that moment, I realised something about him. I could trust him not to tell people what I said to him. I didn't know who he was, or why it was so easy to talk to him, or at least, say the things I'd usually leave unsaid. Even when he criticised my essay, it felt natural. Rather, he was ready to give me the criticism. Even though I knew what was wrong with that lovely piece of writing, it felt good to have someone else castigate it. Politely.

His actions when I was on my way back to palace left me floored.

"My name is Roland. Roland Gallia! Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

Oh. He really didn't know who I was. All of that – that politeness, and that strange sarcasm was delivered to me because it was natural. I don't think I've ever felt so strange and ungainly, and yet so happy. I wanted to see for myself, how he'd react to knowing who I was. Would he be typical, and bow down to me, or would he stay the same? I was hoping and praying right then. My mouth felt unusually dry when I answered him.

"Elena. Elena Riesevelt von Hahnenburg."

His eyes bugged out as he processed this information. He could literally only stare at me as I walked away. And yet, somehow, he raised a hand, and waved. It was a small gesture. But it made me feel warm inside. I liked him immensely, just from this meeting.

* * *

><p>As the princess of the Royal Kingdom (redundancy ahoy) of Carnava, I had to attend the swearing-in ceremony of the new Knights. My acquaintance was there as well, and I couldn't help stare at him, seeing as I didn't really know anyone else from the Knights. It made him uncomfortable, I could tell, but it was hard to look away. He looked so... stately and grand in uniform. Much more than when I met him. Even though he resembled the duck from that saying where the exterior is calm and the part underwater is kicking furiously against the current, it was a very calm exterior. As my literature professor would wisely comment to me, bless the old fellow, "The internal landscape is not reflected by the external landscape."<p>

The ceremony ended with the pledge, which everyone took far more seriously than was usual. Rather, there was a distinct lack of tripping and general embarrassment amongst the new Knights. Good for them. Dull for me.

It's Schadenfreude. Cut me some slack. I can't be the perfect princess all the time.

* * *

><p>I went back to the hill where I'd started this story. It was one of my favourite places in the world, and it felt like second home. I had this nagging feeling that I used to come here as a child, but somehow, I just couldn't remember.<p>

I dozed off.

There was a sudden "Bang!" that made me wake up. I can't describe the sound very well, but if you've ever been unfortunate enough to be sort of near a terrorist attack, it's kind of like that. Scary, loud and worst of all, I could see the smoke streaming into the sky.

I got up in a hurry, hoping to get a better look, but I lost my footing, and found myself rolling down the hill instead. I vaguely recall letting out a scream that was somewhat stifled by the fall, before heavily crashing against someone's legs. I looked up at the person who broke my fall. It was him. My saviour. Well, sort of. I was glad to see Roland, at any rate. I wanted to tell him that.

He looked rather stunned, before asking me if I were really the princess. That riled me a little – why would I lie? And I was stunningly curt with him, as I ordered him to get his ass in gear and get to the palace, where the explosion had taken place. The girl with Roland tried to persuade me to let her stay with me, but I brushed her off. More than anything, I was worried about my sister, and Sir Richter, who was very nearly an older brother to me.

My safety didn't matter just then. I don't care how foolish or sentimental it may sound, but I needed them to survive.

* * *

><p>I watched them as they left. Roland chose to run, which was odd - you'd think a horse would be faster. I suddenly felt my legs give way, and I collapsed onto the ground. What a mess everything had become. What an abso-fucking-lutely brilliant day.<p>

I stood up again, once that jelly-like feeling had gone, and leaned against a nearby tree, with my eyes closed, trying to figure out what to do next. I had very few options that actually made sense. The first of course, would be to get to the Royal Villa. The second would be to get out of the country until things calmed down. Alternatively I could have found a machine gun and go all psycho on the perps, but that would have been silly. At least, so I thought at the time. I realised, only about ten minutes afterwards that I would have gotten off lighter if I _had_ decided to raid the castle, so to speak. Some time passed; I might have dozed off even.

After some time, I stood up and stretched, looking out at the palace, which was no longer burning, though the smoke still covered the sky.

There was a cracking noise behind me, and then the distinct feeling that someone was holding a metal pipe to my back. No, not a pipe. A pistol.

"Right this way, if you please, little princess." A voice said to me. It sounded awfully pimp-like, not the sort of voice you would want to hear in a dark alleyway, or in my situation for that matter. Still, having a gun stuck in your back is a good incentive for listening to someone, so I headed right that way. He didn't remove the gun for even a second, and I didn't get to see his face, though I had a sneaking suspicion that he wore a turtleneck. I'm not sure why, but judging by his jackboots, a turtleneck seemed appropriate.

Well, I was terrified right then. Anyone would be. All I could think of was "help me" in what I imagined to be a very squeaky voice. He, the owner of the voice, pushed me down towards the path. I stumbled. This was met by a rough hand grabbing my arm to steady me, and an angry hiss. We trudged down the path towards a mangy looking horse. It looked old and worn out. Not the sort of animal I would assign the task of "getaway vehicle" to. To each his or her own, I suppose. It has to be said though, that that animal looked like it was about to expire at any moment.

There was a gunshot, and the pressure on my back disappeared. I turned around to the source of the noise, and there he was. Roland had a revolver in hand, still smoking from the shot, and he looked grim. His face was blackened, and his hair dishevelled. He'd seen better days, no doubt.

"Where did you learn to use a gun?" I asked him. Guns were not standard issue in the Royal Army, especially not for Knights.

"I had a friend give me lessons. Thought it might come in handy some time." He was surprisingly terse, though I guess I couldn't blame him after all that had happened. My _lack_ of panic was stranger than his stoic reaction to the situation. "I've got a horse. We need to get to the palace, and then away from here."

"Alright then." I gave him a weak smile, which he returned, and we set down the path towards his horse. I'm glad to say that it looked significantly healthier than my attacker's. Roland turned back once we reached his mount, and then lead the other horse down towards us.

"No need to be wasteful."

"That horse looks kind of... not very healthy."

"I've seen worse."

I don't want to see that animal ever. I think I might cry if I do.

"So what's the plan?"

"We rendezvous with Sir Richter, Her Majesty, and a few other soldiers. We'll be heading to the Royal Villa near Farham from after that."

"Then let's go!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ha! You expected a continuation of Roland's story did you not? Author trolling aside, this was an intentional interlude, while I figure out how to progress Roland's side of the story to match the ending for this particular story arc. **

**This isn't a standalone thing either. Each chapter, as long as Elena is alone or without Roland at some point in the narrative, will feature a 1****st**** person narrative detailing her side of the story. This is the only time where their events will overlap. The main reason I did this is to compensate for my sparse writing style in 3****rd**** person – as she's an OC, her personality needs to be established firmly, as she plays a major role in the fic. I don't like the idea of her degenerating into a typical tsundere like Karen. I see her to be more of a warm but slightly aloof person. She likes people but isn't overtly demonstrative. I'll leave your interpretations of her, and hope that my writing can bring out mine, to you, the reader. **

**Plus, I like writing in 1****st**** person.**

**Special notes: None really. There are a few references here and there, but I won't ruin the fun. **


	4. Chapter 3

**Stuff that should have turned up last chapter, but I am a fool:  
>Many thanks to Tobilas, for inadvertently inspiring the Elena POV chapters.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: The boy is forced to watch as his life gradually falls into pieces of broken ceramic and glue<strong>

Roland found himself in the highly awkward position where he had to choose between letting the Princess ride on the mangy horse, or doing so himself. Either option seemed terrifying, if only because the animal looked ill-equipped for basic functions such as walking.

"Heads you ride, Tails I do." She said behind him, looking equally dismayed by the prospect of sitting on the beast.

"Do you have a coin?"

"Yup."

* * *

><p>"Drat."<p>

Roland carefully hoisted himself onto the creature, and looked at the Princess with a distinctly disgruntled look on his face. The Princess herself had mounted Roland's horse with far less than the usual difficulty one would expect with someone as small as her, and was surveying him daintily.

_Serves me right for trying to be Mr. Practical. Goddammit, I hope he lasts until we get to the carriage._

They began their journey towards Richter's promised transport. The Princess looked downcast. Roland wanted, he realised, to cheer her up, but his own sense of worry and fear stopped him, with a feeling akin to having a giant rock stuck in one's throat. What made it worse was the awkward silence between the two. This continued for some time until she broke the silence.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question, Sir Roland?"

"Not at all, my lady."

_Technically, you already have, but that gag is too old to use right now. And you're a bit too important. _

"You were part of the group responsible for destroying the Beast Fiends, am I correct?"

"Yes. That is indeed the case."

"And you eventually became the Master of the Magic Association as well?"

_Where does she get her info from?_

"Quite."

"So then, why are you here?"

"Come again...?" Roland turned towards her with a confused look. "I don't quite follow what you mean."

"You had the chance," she said, brows furrowed, "to rule over a country. To possess an incredible amount of political clout. To literally shape the world as you wish. Why would you give up such power?"

"I suppose I don't really have the desire to spend the rest of my life ranting about having the power." He replied, with slight smile. "In all honesty, I think I make a better subordinate than outright leader."

"So you quit."

"Left the job in the hands of more capable people, I prefer to say."

"What about the Runic Engine thing?"

_DAMN. Where does she get her info from? I need to know, like, right now. _

"I had it removed."

_WHY. WOULD. YOU. DO. THAT._

She gaped at him. It was literally an expression of abject disbelief.

"You're wondering why?" He grimaced slightly at the memory, before pulling off a glove. "This, and that odd patch of silver in my hair is why."

His hand was normally shaped. All the fingers were intact. The only problem with it was the fact that it was completely blackened, as though it had come into contact with a fire, and had roasted away into so much charcoal. It looked painful.

_Good god._

"When I gave up the position of the Master, my hair returned to its original shade, the colour which you see now. That silver streak appeared about a week after that, post a battle against a few Beast Fiends that had survived. During a training battle, my hand morphed into the thing you see before you."

Elena's face looked slightly green at the revelation.

"You almost died, didn't you?" She looked mortified.

"Well, yes, I suppose I came far closer to dying than I would have liked. "

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I seem to have asked you something I shouldn't have."

"No matter. I don't imagine my reasons for leaving have been particularly evident."

The atmosphere between the two did not improve. There was an underlying sense of caution that both of them had, compounded by the events earlier in the day. Both secretly sighed a sigh of relief when they saw Richter, and with him everyone else.

* * *

><p>"Roland, I'm afraid I need to you to go on a little scouting mission."<p>

"By myself? Here?"

The carriage had stopped just outside a dense forest, not exactly the sort of place one would generally go for a peaceful drive in. The trees were thickly packed together, and the air was strangely foreboding.

"It looks like the trees move." He said, with a somewhat frightened expression on his face. "I'm sure I've read a book somewhere where the trees eat people and block paths and do all sort of unsavoury things."

"Well, you can't exactly tell Her Majesty we can't go through the shortest and safest route to the villa because you have an unexplained phobia of trees, can you?"

"I suppose not. And I swear, every forest in that series, except maybe one, and nice people lived in that one, had issues."

"We can't help that. Now go."

"Dammit. I'm sure you didn't want to go either." Roland sighed to himself as he crept along the bushes. "Huh? A light... here?"

He hurried towards the glow, thanking his stars that he'd taken the trouble to attend a woodsmanship workshop the year before. A large group of soldiers, maybe twenty or so, were camped there.

_Well, that's a good thing, I suppose._

He got up. The soldiers started, and then pointed their weapons at him.

"Uh, I'm on your side." He said in surprise, as he was still in uniform. "You know, here to save the Queen and all that."

Suddenly, they charged.

* * *

><p>"He's taking too long." Rina said, looking out the carriage window impatiently.<p>

"I'm sure he's alright. He _is_ my protégé after all." Richter said smoothly, though the worry lines were visible on his face.

And then they heard a yell.

"Don't even think about hurting them!" Roland burst through the bushes, wildly defending himself from the rebel soldiers. His shoulder was wounded, and the disadvantage his corrupted hand put him at was evident. Even so, he was holding his own. His sword flashed about in a deadly arc, cutting down the soldiers in their tracks. He would parry and duck, countering with sharp jabs.

"Roland!" Richter leapt out of the carriage, spearing one of the enemies in the process. Rina herself quickly knocked an arrow to the string, and shot another through the eye. He went down screaming in pain, and continued to writhe there.

"Sorry about this! I assumed they were on our side thanks to the uniform." Roland said, as he avoided a wild swing to his head.

"No, no, quite a common mistake, I believe. It's better this way... gah!" Richter caught two swords on his spear, and then with a thrust, sent the two flying into a tree.

"Well, that's eight down. Only twelve to go."

"You banter far too much."

"And you don't enough, sir."

"What about Sir Gaston and your brother?"

"I don't think we need to wake them up for this. It's our watch after all."

* * *

><p>"And <em>that<em> is why I don't like forests at night."

"I'd hardly call attracting attention to yourself and then being molested by rebels the sort of thing that usually goes about in forests, you know." Rina said, trying not to giggle.

"Neither are talking trees. Now all we need would be ancient spirits of things and legendary weapons that glow in the dark."

"What on earth are you talking about? More importantly, how is your shoulder?" Richter cut in, his expression tired, and his palm barely resisting the urge to make contact with forehead.

"It's fine. I'll live."

"I don't doubt that, but you'll worry Her Majesty if she sees you with it."

Rasche let out a snore that cut through the tension between them, and the three burst out laughing.

"At least some things don't change... like his snoring." Rina smiled. They weren't laughing because it was funny. They were laughing because they were alive.

* * *

><p>"You're joking."<p>

"I'm afraid not, Elena. It seems that most of our soldiers have defected to Larrouse's side."

"Is there any other information available, Sir Richter?" Her Majesty cut in. "Anything at all?"

"If I may?" Roland looked at the group. Sophia nodded in assent. "I don't believe that the Royal Villa is going to be particularly safe, especially given the recent turn of events. We should head to Shqiperise instead. I have friends there that would be glad to help."

"Friends?"

"Yes. Uh... Lord Alba's son was a close friend of mine in school, and we're still in touch."

"It's not reliable. The villa is far more defensible." Gaston interjected, his voice booming.

"But sir!"

"No buts. We make for the villa immediately."

_I know he's an iron wall, but whoa. _

Rasche gave the horses a light flick of the whip and the carriage set off at a sharp pace. Richter and Roland, and Rina followed on their horses, acting simultaneously as guards and lookouts.

Some hours later, they stopped at a little hamlet close to the Jotzenchoc border. The mountains and volcanoes of the region were visible in the horizon, and it made Roland uneasy.

_Given that we're the ones travelling though open territory, and there is no real cover in this place, we could get attacked at any time. Dammit, why are we coming here of all places? Where are the tactics? The strategy? Sir Gaston, you're a defender! We need to sneak out as soon as we can!_

His face was sullen as they walked to the inn, which looked rundown, as befitted a village in so remote an area.

_This sort of place is exactly the kind of area that crawls with rebels and insurgents and nasty people. Is he this convinced of the infallibility of the Knights?_

It was an interesting contrast of opinions: The General who felt no fear, the Knight who favoured tactics over brute force, and the Princess who relied on books for knowledge.

Inside the inn, it was dark and dingy. Not the sort of place Queens tended to visit. The two royals had indeed worn hoods, and in Elena's case, Rina's clothes, to conceal their identities.

"Oh my. It looks like something out of a period piece." She said nervously, to no one in particular. Roland heard her and let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah, pretty much. Not much money gets to towns like these, so the inns are far from the kinds we get in Royal Carnava."

She instinctively grabbed his sleeve as they walked past a particularly hulking man, who suddenly stood up and stood in front of Roland.

"Can I help you, sir?" He said, face as calm as ever.

_Avoid confrontations. Do not annoy Big Angry Man. _

"Help me? Sure you can. Don't you remember me, brat?" The man let off a booming laugh and tugged his beard, making a strange gesture at the group in the process.

"Mister Soakes? Is that you?" Gaston cut in, beaming.

"Of course it is! Gahahah!" The laugh was merry and almost heartwarming.

"Soakes, you old reprobate!" Richter joined them with a grin on his face. "Ah, Lily," he said to Elena, "I think you should go to that table there. Garlot and I'll come in a bit."

The three of them retired to a table in the corner, leaving Elena to weave her way towards the rest of the group. The conversation between Soakes and the two Knights looked animated and lively, in contrast with the funereal atmosphere at the Queen's table.

"Whatchu gettin'" A waitress who resembled a whore more than a waitress came up to them.

"Euh... water?" Elena asked, giving her sister a look. Rina concurred, though she had a nagging doubt that the alcohol would be far less poisonous. Roland looked with interest at the jug, and then asked for soup. The others gave their orders, and settled down into the creaky wooden stools.

"Soup?" Rasche grinned at Roland, who stared impassively at his fingernails. They were cracked and grimy after the fires and fighting, and one of them was barely hanging on to the rest of his hand. He gave the nail a quick tug, wrenching it off, and splattering the table with blood. Wincing, he wrapped a tissue around it, and continued to look dully around the room.

The inn was surprisingly quiet, with most of the guests too drunk to do more than snore. In the corner the two Knights continued to speak with Soakes, while gesticulating wildly. It looked exaggerated and artificial.

_Something, I don't know what, is clearly going on. Gaston is too experienced to leave out survival to mere chance. He must have a reason for going to the villa that we are unaware of. But why risk the Queen? What kind of situation would call for this?_

The group spent an hour at the inn, most of which was spent in contemplating the merits of eating their food, and potentially dying of food poisoning. They left at 5:55pm precisely, not knowing about the telescope trained on them from the nearby Watchpoint Hill.

* * *

><p>"I know I'm going to sound like a petulant fool, but seriously, are we there yet?" Elena said, looking slightly green.<p>

"You're not ill are you?" Gaston looked at her with concern.

"No, no. Just tired. And you, sir? Aren't you fatigued from the journey?"

"Just a little. Nothing that could kill me." He laughed at his words, and the journey proceeded in silence.

A few hours later, they arrived at the Royal Villa.

"Whoa." Rasche stared at the huge building, voicing the thoughts that Roland and Rina were harbouring. "That is one hell of a house."

"Indeed it is." Sophia smiled at their agape faces, before going up to the gate and typing in an access code onto a small panel.

"Felinor techonology?" Roland asked, looking with interest at the device.

"Yeah, it is. Dad was a fan." Elena replied. She looked sad, which was a natural state of mind after the events that had transpired the day before. Her eyes had dark rims around them, and looked puffy from a lack of sleep. Her face was pale, and she looked thinner and more fragile somehow.

_Good grief she looks like a corpse. Not good. Who the hell thinks corpses look sexy anyhow? They don't. _

The little group walked down the path, gravel crunching under their feet, towards the house. Gaston suddenly stopped. He stooped down to look at the stones.

"They've been disturbed. Footprints maybe, but I'm not sure."

A cracking sound came from the mansion, and Gaston looked at his chest in shock. A long wooden stake protruded from the front. The stake had come from some sort of machine attached to the main gate. It had been pure chance that Gaston, rather than someone else, had been hit.

"Oh god no!" Sophia ran to the old Knight, and grabbed on to him. He tottered forwards, and came to his knees. Gaston coughed, spitting out blood, before giving the group a grin.

"This isn't enough to stop the Iron Wall of Carnava. Get into the building. I'll hold them off."

"I'm staying!" Rasche readied his spear, pointing the tip at the direction of the stake. Roland nodded, and drew his sword, before calling out to Rina and the two royals.

" Let's go! Quickly!"

* * *

><p>Inside the manse, Roland chanced to look out of the window. Gaston and Rasche were fending off a large group of brown-cloaked individual, who were outclassed technically, but made up for it through numbers. It was a breathtaking display of technique from Gaston who resembled a whirlwind on the field, cutting through enemies like so much butter against a carving knife. Blood sprayed everywhere, staining their armour red, and dying the gravel. Rasche suddenly started and gave a yell before dashing off towards the forested area. Gaston shouted something, and ran after him, slashing the life from another insurgent as he did so. That was the last Roland ever saw of the two.<p>

He turned around to face the Queen who carried two large, beautifully crafted swords in her hands. Both were identical, though the practiced eye would notice that one had significantly more skilled workmanship in the patterns, and looked older, though just as bright and well-maintained.

"These are the proofs of Carnavan royalty. This sword," She said, holding up one of the swords, "Is the culmination of Navillian bladecraft, and the legacy of Lord Erasmus Razi, the founder of this Kingdom. Elena, take it. Keep it safe. We need to split up here."

"Your Majesty, that would be far too dangerous." Roland's face took on an expression of panic, and he stepped forwards.

"I am aware of the dangers. This artefact needs to be kept safe however, and I would have Elena, Richter and Rina do so."

"And I, my lady?"

"You shall escort me. We shall act as a decoy."

_You can't be serious. _

Richter looked as displeased with the plan as Roland felt, while Elena and Rina looked stunned.

"Very well." He said, frowning. "But I expect that we rendezvous at a safe point."

* * *

><p>The two of them, Roland and the Queen crawled along a stone wall that broken in parts. Sweat dripped from their noses, splashing on to the ground.<p>

"We're in trouble."

The rebel forces numbered at least a hundred. It would take a miracle and then a few more to fight them, thus a sneakier escape route would need to be found. Roland's fatigue did not help matters; his vision was clouded by perspiration and the lack of sleep. His shoulder ached from the previous night's battle.

_Fight to the death. Give her a chance to escape. That's all I need to do. _

A sudden gunshot rang out behind them, and Roland fell, clutching his injured shoulder, which was now bleeding profusely. A man stood behind them, with a massive gun, and a even larger knife.

_Compensating for something, are we—Shit!" _Roland groaned as the pain grew worse. His vision was reddened from the pain, and he could barely focus.

"A neural agent is on the bullet. It should prevent you from acting for the next half-hour at least... in which time you should be dead from the bloodloss." It was another figure, smaller, but with an even more brutal expression on his face.

_You bastard._

"Can we help you?" Sophia rose, drawing her sword.

"I'll be taking that, thank you." He said. The larger man growled at these words, and kicked her in the stomach. He stamped down on her, and she coughed up blood from the impact. The smaller man took the knife and bent down.

_What are you doing. Stop. No. STOP DAMN YOU!_

Sophia couldn't move with the larger man's foot in her stomach. She could see the smaller man take the knife and crouch. He held it near her face, and with a swift movement, stabbed her eye.

Pain. Hot blinding pain that confused her passed through her body. Instinctively, she reached up to remove the weapon, but that tiny jolt sent even worse waves of agony down her body. She couldn't think. Speak. Breathe. Hear.

_Stop it. _

_It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. I__t hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts._

_JUST END THIS I BEG YOU!_

She was screaming in pain; Roland could hear her voice cracking as the agony grew worse. Then the larger man picked her up, and took the body towards a concrete bunker. Several horrible squelching noises sounded, and everything went quiet.

Time passed, as Roland grew weaker. Somehow, he survived the bullet, and after the effects of the neurotoxin wore off, he was able to dizzily get up, and plug the wound with a piece of his reddened sleeve. The bleeding had lessened – he was a fast healer, thanks to the side-effects of the Runic Engine's corruption. He couldn't stand properly, as his mind was still foggy from the poison. Then he turned to see what had happened to the Queen, after he had completely failed her. A horrible smell was in the air, of decaying flesh and organs.

_Oh my god._

He gagged, and then threw up. The smell of the vomit mingled with the smell of the Queen's mangled body, creating a cocktail from hell. The body was unrecognisable. It was a mass of pulpy organs, and with the intestines clearly splattered around. The back of the head had been smashed in, and the brain was smashed against the concrete. The face was barely visible under the blood, and the eyeball had been gouged out. A jelly-like substance trailed down her face – the vitreous fluid from the eye ball. Flies flew around the corpse, and their buzzing was the only sound to be heard.

Roland threw up again and again, until there was nothing left inside. Just the vomit on the ground, mixing with his blood and the Queen's body. Just his complete and utter shame and agony. He collapsed against the wall, and began to cry. It was a horrible cry, cracked and broken, loud and heart-rending.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Requiem Aeternam ties into this chapter. So, good news, he doesn't die there. And also ****why the genre wasn't tagged as tragedy in that story**** ( this is a total lie). And if you haven't read it, you should [INSERT SHAMELESS PLUG HERE]. **

**Another long chapter, to make up for me taking ages to update, thanks to various RL issues. I'm still fairly busy until sometime in January, so I might not be very prompt, but the show will certainly go on. Also, Gory stuff this time (I think). Comments (i.e. reviews) appreciated regarding my writing in this case. If it's a consolation, something this grisly probably won't ever happen again (Roland resolving not to let it). And yes, I've been playing Corpse Party. That might have inadvertently lead to this, er, mode of death. **

_**Reviews are appreciated. No, really. I become a better writer/am inspired to update faster when I read your comments.**_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 2: Alternative Viewpoint**

**I don't know how to title this entry**

Do you want to know what despair feels like?

Let me tell you.

It feels like having gag on your mouth and a vice on your brain. It feels like a weight that isn't really there because it's made up of tears. It feels like the broken mirror on the wall that got smashed in a fit of rage. It's pain, anger and sadness mixed up with apathy.

That's how I felt when I woke up in Shqiperise, three days after I collapsed near the border.

* * *

><p>When my sister asked us to split up, I was terrified out of my mind. I can barely remember climbing out through the ivy, and then losing my grip. I don't even remember it hurting when I fell on Richter, because it was all so numb.<p>

She and I were close. As close as it were possible for members of a royal family to be. Father and Mother had passed away when I was very young, and she barely an adult. Suddenly, she was no more my sister but the Queen of a nation. It was strange and alien to me, alone and friendless as I was after my sheltered existence. But she still took the time to hold me when I saw nightmares, and comfort me when I got hurt. She would play silly games with me and take goofy cognographs near the fountain with me. She was told it was indecorous, but she never cared.

The thought that she could die; that she would die before me and so soon was terrifying and stark and it loomed over me like a dark blanketing cloud.

* * *

><p>And then Roland came up to me, bleeding and weak. He looked me in the eye at my unasked question, and I knew right then that it was true. That I had lost my only family on that day.<p>

Soldiers spotted us soon enough, and Richter and I were forced to separate. I met Roland semi-unconscious in a bush, but he saw me and responded. We travelled for what appeared to be hours before arriving at a canyon, where Richter caught up to us.

Roland, who was wreaked with guilt from letting her die, promised me that we would take back Carnava, with he as my sword.

I accepted his word on the matter, but I was cold. Oh so very cold.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, I know this is ****a bit (read: ****very) different so to speak. This is more of an Elena viewpoint on the nadir of her existence, so her upbeat narration doesn't work. It's also obnoxiously short, because the next updates are quite a bit longer. Promise. It feels glossed over because, trust me on this, depressed situations can either lead to immense brooding, or repression. In her case, the latter is true.**

**Also, I have several "lore" documents I was working on, because PLOT demands that I settle on these before things get convoluted. If *cough*demand*cough* is present, then I shall supply. I have a vague idea as to how to integrate them into the context of the story itself, but yeah, not necessary at all. **

**As to why 400 words took so long to chug out, I've been busy with school. Now that I'm on winter break, the chapters should come out with more regularity. **

**Next chapter is a Richter/Roland first-person bonanza. **


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 3: In Which A Long Conversation Assures the Boy that Something is Wrong**

Elena sat down onto the grass and let out a sigh. In the few years that had passed, she had visibly aged. No longer did she appear small and petite. She had grown several inches in the time, and had developed a cold, standoffish air about her that reeked of suspicion and anger. Roland was the only person she did not completely snub – rather, the only confidant she possessed, for every other person she pushed away from her.

"Yo."

She turned around to see him standing there, calm and unconcerned.

"How're you doing, Miss Elena?"

"Drop the "Miss"."

"Yes, _Miss!_" Roland's gentle mocking was strangely pleasant to her ears, and she beckoned for him to sit.

They sat in silence for several minutes before he spoke.

"I have some transcripts for you, from the courtroom records. I think you need to go through them if we need to decide a plan of action."

"What good does that do anyway? Why would you remind of that thing!" Her voice was even and measured, except for the slight crack at the end.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but you need to look at these. You can't run away forever."

"I'm not running! I – I'm just…" She paused for a moment before suddenly, in a much louder voice, "I – I feel like some sort of fog person!"

"Do you?" Roland said, smiling at the thought, "Why?"

"It's dark and I can't always see ahead of me. It's cold and it's grey."

"Like the fog."

"…Obviously."

"Do you remember what you ate for breakfast on the one day Rina was summoned to the courtroom?"

"A bagel with cream cheese and orange juice."

"Do you remember what we studied that day?"

"Psychology. We were working on compliance techniques – Burger and Petty – and you wouldn't stop giggling."

She paused.

"Why are you asking me all this?"

"Do you remember… how you felt that day? I do. I was actually really worried about Rina, so I was being extra hyper during the class. I don't even know why Burger and Petty seemed so funny at the time, but you know, burgers and patties. It seems stupid now, but that's how I remember that class at all. It was pretty unremarkable, all things considered."

"…No I can't recall a thing about how I _felt_."

"That's why."

"What?"

"Why you feel like a fog person. You can't see because you're so fixated on blocking out your feelings. You just didn't cry. Rina was weeping during the funeral, and I could hear Richter blowing his nose behind me. I was crying. And you… you just stood there, like a statue. You didn't say a word and you didn't shed a tear. People were saying that you didn't have a heart."

"… I see." She looked away from him, quietly, before softly saying, "I wrote this. Yesterday. When I came up with this bull about fog people."

"Hey, I like the idea. Let's take a look, eh?"

_I look out my window, but I can't see. It's cold and grey and dark and there is no sun. It's like Hell, if Hell had permanent air-conditioning. I live in the fog and I'm part of the fog, for I'm a fog person. _

_There's a house in the distance and there are children playing. I wave. They don't see me. They can't see me. _

_I raise my hands to the sky and try to catch a bird, but it flies right through me._

"Well. I would say that this sounds a lot like some children's book where there's this depressing thing happening, and then it somehow ends obnoxiously with everyone becoming friends."

"The hell, man?"

"You should make it longer and give it a moral. I'll draw the pictures!"

"Can you even draw?"

"Not even a little." He grinned at her. The sheer bounciness of the expression made her smile.

"Why don't you finish the story?"

"I can? Cool. I'll tell you how I think it should end."

He cleared his throat.

_I felt really sad when the bird flew through me, but I also felt determined to catch him and SHINE! I failed however and ran into my little fog house to cry. I turned on the telly, and saw a show about a sunny place where famous people and surfer dudes partayy, and it made me happy because I decided that I'd go there when I grow up. Also, there was a show about a big red dog that I think would have liked to be a fog person because he was literally the size of a house, so I felt better and went outside to take a walk._

"…Nice bro. I'm not even sure where you went with that."

"It's symbolism. Also, I just had to talk about surfer dudes."

"Why?"

"Richter is going surfing with this girl he met the other day, and the thought is slightly creepy."

"Everyone's fitting in, huh?"

"Well, you have to. That's how this stuff works."

"Yeah."

Again, a short pause between the two that was more of an amicable silence. Elena suddenly sighed and lay down with a thud onto the grass. She made a small circle with her finger and thumb, and held it to her eye.

"I can see the sky like this."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'll read them. The transcripts. And whatever other documents you have. I'll read them. I can't stay dead forever."

"You sure?"

"You're right about one thing… in that stupid story of yours. If I don't go outside and clear my head, I'll just rot away like that horrible stuffed animal you found."

"I believe it was the miracle of taxidermy, but here you go."

He handed her a large sheaf of papers, each meticulously dated and timed.

"Start with this one. It's my account of what happened after our separation. The worst one to be precise. Also, there are some other documents I think you might want to take a look at. I'm not sure what they're all about, but apparently, Durandal's function is related to these "Sinones""

"I see… I'll just have to make sure I don't cry then."

"I don't know... you _should_ cry. Cry all you want, and let it all out today. That way, you won't be a fog person anymore."

* * *

><p><em>Is this his speech to the House of Commons?<em>

_Yep. It's been cut a little – sensitive info – but it'll do as a primer._

_I'm the lost princess. What sensitive info am I not allowed to read?_

_Why ask me? I'm just a little gopher. _

…_Yeah, sure you are._

**[Regarding Events of 14/12/4013 – Author: Lecroix; Richter]**

Her Majesty was agitated that day, with some secret deeply weighing her down. It was thus left to me and Rina Mersault to protect Princess Elena to the best of our ability while Roland led the Queen to safety. Only later it transpired that Her Majesty was not to survive, and with her death, the knowledge regarding the activation of the Granseal would be lost forever. In doing so, she hoped to prevent some tragedy of which she spoke often in raving terms, but did not elaborate further. I say this with only hindsight allowing me to speak of these events with the surety I now possess.

Roland this fulfilled his task of failing to protect her admirably, although it caused him immense psychological damage. He described the events in a choked voice, though with precise detail.

"[Heavy breathing] Her body was just a squashed lump of flesh – no, several lumps – stuck to the wall. They didn't respect any of the rules that people follow when they deal with the dead. The killer, he stuck a knife into her eye just because we were defenceless. I failed, Sir Richter. I'm a blot on the honour of the Knights. I failed. I failed. [Screaming sound]" – taken from audio records (as per Mandate 122B of Special Intelligence Charter IV)

I advised him to make amends with the princess, who upon hearing the details of the murder came to the conclusion that he was not in any condition to defend himself, much less another.

Furthermore, we were to experience several more shocks that day, as Gaston and Rasche were nowhere to be found. They were eventually reported as MIA [Missing In Action] with the hope that they had merely been captured. Post the events surrounding the Queen's death, this was but a bleak prospect.

[Update: Sir Gaston was eventually found running an item shop in a small town on the Brennese border. He refused to acknowledge that Lady Sophia had died, and threw out the search party from his shop.]

_So, he's alive…_

_Yeah. Aren't you glad?_

_Yeah… we can't go back to how it used to be, can we?_

_I don't know. _

_Can we meet him or will he freak out at us. _

_I don't know. _

**[Telegram sent from Linara Isvell, Soldat Road East. Sender unknown. Date: 12/12/4013]**

SITUATION WORSE –STOP- SEND BACKUP –STOP-

ARMY ATTACKED AT SOLDAT RD E –STOP-

ENEMY COMMANDER LARROUSE CROMWELL-STOP-

SITUATION INTERMINABLE-STOP-

_We had a warning._

_I'm sorry._

_Who saw this first?_

_I don't know. Let's read the next one._

_Wait, you wrote this one?_

_Economics and IR paper. I ended up submitting it to the House of Commons, and it got archived. I'm so boss. It's only a part of the paper though and the first draft no less, as I'm not authorised to give you the whole thing. That's why it's shitty._

_Idiot. Show me these things earlier._

_You were locked in your room the whole time._

**[Regarding Iluca Larrouse and House Cromwell; Author: Roland Gallia]**

The Carnavan Civil War of 4013 is an event well-known for its extreme brutality and the staggering loss of life initiated by the use of modern weaponry in a country known for its over-reliance on Magetech. It was essentially a sign of things to come, as the Cromwell regime introduced, over a period of three years, much technological advancement that aimed at improving the general lifestyle of the people. The reign has been characterised by extreme social mobility that was unheard of during the monarchy, tempered with harsh laws against crime and corruption. In short, the revolution lived up to its name and brought immense change to a stagnating nation.

As proof of economic progress, the Cromwell government has seen a sharp fall in unemployment, due to a boom in the construction industry, with new roads and buildings appearing almost daily. Furthermore, the disposable income of the average Carnavan has increased substantially, even with heavy taxation on income. This can be attributed to the wide availability and low cost of many basic human rights such as food grains, healthcare and education, all of which is subsidised by the state. Many lifestyle products considered near-necessities in other states are now flooding the Carnavan market, leading to the influx of businesses that aim to innovate in these same industries, leading to increased economic growth.

Low minimum wages and freely available semi-skilled labour has proven to be both a boon and a curse to Carnava, whose fledgling secondary sector has grown almost exponentially due to high FDI [Foreign Direct Investment]. [CUT DUE TO SENSITIVE INFORMATION]

_Ripping on Carnava much?_

_You do it too. _

_Not any more I don't. _

_The truth is what it is, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise._

_Shut the fuck up. _

_You told me years ago that you hated how backward Carnava was. If we'd had weapons to match the rebels, all of this wouldn't have happened. What should I think? Tell me. _

_I said, SHUT UP!_

**[Information files: Magic Sinones; recovered on 27/2/4017 by Prof. Vikram Rushat]**

This is a summary of documentation from the Navillian era recovered from my last archaeological expedition. It appears to have been co-authored by Elicia d'Alliers and Ciaran Hohenheim, both considered the leading mages of the time. This is quite possibly an extension on the research initiated by Lady Alghierie before her death, caused by what is often referred to as the Crystallization.

Lady Alghierie, as she is not very well-known outside Magical archaeology, was responsible for the initiation of research into Magetech that aimed to improve socioeconomic parameters rather than military functions. As a result, much of her work was obscured by the highly militant government under which the Beast Queen Elicia worked.

[BEGIN DOCUMENTATION]

Sinones are quite possibly the cornerstone of the magic we use today, and it is likely that if we are able to harness them and therefore guide them to do our bidding, we can make magic far more prevalent in this world.

The Sinone phenomenon was first uncovered in the Doetfeld mines, in Northern Cambia. Miners found mysterious stone, which were named by locals as "Lapis", which could be used in various ways, from lighting fires, to extinguishing them. Further research showed that the Lapis caused minute distortions that were picked up only by the most precise equipment available at the time. Herman Ladd was the first person to create instruments that could measure these distortions. It was later discovered that these Sinones operated at slightly different wavelengths from each other, changing the effects slightly.

What we propose therefore is that Sinones can be manipulated such that Magic is usable by even those who are not accustomed to the rituals involved. Our intention therefore is to create accessible magical technology. We anticipate great opposition to this move from certain quarters, but believe that this will benefit society for the better.

One other possible use that we surmise from the Sinone force is that we may break the final frontier so to speak, and create artificial, sentient life. I urge the committee to consider this application in anticipation of war with South Rawston.

[END DOCUMENTATION]

The rest of this file regrettably seems to have disintegrated with time. However, we hope that further research on Sinones will lead to immense improvements in Magic technology, while avoiding the cruel mistakes committed by the Navilians that led to their fall.

_Beast Queen…?_

_The Beast Fiends were apparently created by her._

_Oh. Drat. _

_I honestly want to know if there's another side to the story, but she turned into a giant flower and tried to energy beam us to death._

_What._

_Yeah, pretty much. _

_No really, what._

_I'm not sure how to put it, but it was a very trippy experience. _

…_Yeah._

**[Crystallization; Author: Ayano Kashiwazaki]**

Crystallization, or Lapis Corrosion, is a phenomenon that occurs mostly amongst mages who exceed their latent Sinone capacity. It has also been reported amongst soldiers fitted with the Runic Engines, and young children who possess great magical power but no means of controlling it.

The disease manifests itself as rapid and painful conversion of bodily tissues into a crystalline substance that shatters easily. People who contract the illness rarely recover, and it is largely considered incurable.

The only known survivor of Lapis Corrosion is Roland Gallia, who has been placed under careful observation.

_When did this happen. _

_Years ago. I wanted to kill myself right then, literally. Or gouge out the painful part, whatever was faster. _

… _Holy._

_Don't worry. I'm much less emo now. _

_How?_

_There's no point in worrying about stuff like that anymore. I saw your sister die in the most horrific way possible. If I let myself brood over that now, I'd go insane. So I'll be happy instead and think about cheerful things. _

_How cheesy. _

_So what?_

**[Runic Engine Specifications; Author Unknown]**

Dimensions: 4x4x2]

Weight: 50g

Sinone Frequency compatibily: 10Hz to 20Mhz

Sinone Latency: 1000F

Optimization time: 60s

Optimum operating temperatures: -50C – 8000C

MATERIALS USED

Encard Lapis Crystal

Silicon Controller chip

Febrilin

Aluminium-steel alloy

[CERTAIN PORTIONS OF THIS DOCUMENT, INDICATED BY - DESTROYED IN UNKNOWN CIRCUMSTANCES]

_How is this important? _

_I don't know. They just handed me a bunch of papers and told me to force you to read them._

_I see. That sounds fun_

_Oh yeah, it is. Also, most of the document is gone, so._

* * *

><p>"I wonder exactly what causes the crystallisation phenomenon. Sure, sinone capacity or whatever, but what leads to this excess? Most mages can't use magic beyond their capacity to start with."<p>

"It's apparently a manifestation of solidified magic. I guess, if you were mixing something in a bowl, crystallisation occurs when you mix too hard and stuff flies over the edge and onto your clothes."

"So, in theory, you could prevent it."

"In theory, yes. That's one basic function of a witch's Lapistier. It curbs the "overflow" so to speak, or so I've been told. That's why a witch will die if you take away their lapistier. They literally turn into statues ."

"Ugh. That sounds about as bad as it can get."

"Sadly, yes."

"Now, shoo. I'm going to sleep."

"Okay."

Roland got up and walked away, feeling both relieved that his liege was less depressed, and disturbed by the implications of their final conversation. Even though the questions themselves were innocent enough, there was an undercurrent of something more desperate.

_Just what _are _ you planning?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: For starters, I should apologise profusely for being a terrible person and not updating for months. In my defense, I had a lot to deal with, like my mock exams for the IB, and IA submissions. Again, thank you for your patience (if people are still reading this...?).**

**Now, for actual notes: **

**1) Burger and Petty are real people in the field of Psychology, and they did in fact conduct research on Compliance techniques. **

**2) I used a different style for rendering dialogue in the document part of the chapter, so as to break up the exposition with some dialogue (which I adore writing to be frank). I promise that all of those WORDS are relevant. The change in style was partly inspired by Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which is one of the best books I have ever read till date. **

**3) I am aware that Roland's "paper" would get him failed in any real university, but I hardly think you want me to write a 4000 word discourse on Economics, even if I can. I ask you to summon your Suspension of Disbelief for that bit, as it's essentially exposition. **

**4) I was intending to do a long courtroom like chapter initially, with Roland and Richter doing a first person narration. Indeed, I have the initial draft of that particular piece. However, I made a serious overhaul of themes and plot of this story, based on some extra flavour text I had written for my personal reference. I don't really want to write a story that makes war out to be heroic in any way, and the initial plot was somewhat monkey-cheese shonen bullshit that I am somewhat ashamed of in retrospect. **

**5) Fog People were directly inspired by my English class, where my teacher handed us a handout, the back page of which asked us to write an essay on the "Life of a Fog Person". It seemed relevant in a weird way to Elena, so yeah. **

**Thanks for putting up with all the extra words from me. This is my way of saying sorry for the delay, but quite frankly, I have no time until the 22nd of May. **

**_I appreciate reviews, especially ones that seriously critique my work. I love praise and I relish the haters as well, but more than anything, I want someone to pick apart my work the way people pick apart shitty writers, because I know I'm not that good, and I want to get better. Thanks!_  
><strong>


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